


On the Brink of Our Ends

by brazenedMinstrel



Series: Within my Grasp [6]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/F, Heavy Angst, Here be the warnings:, Magic, Resurrection, Ritual, Scars, ancient creepy rituals, don't hurt the author pls, kinda failing but still, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenedMinstrel/pseuds/brazenedMinstrel
Summary: Part 6 of Within my Grasp. Please read the previous part to completely follow the story!So... the finale, here we go...I MADE SOUNDTRACK: https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/within-my-grasp-finaleAdvantage of being a composer and a write in one :) pls listen to it, it's goodThe Draconic sentences are cobbled together, illogical and awful. Such is Blizzard and its lazy language writing. (Rikk ante il gular, am dakana = your fate has been spoken)It all started with cooking...Kudos and comments are most welcome! I also have Ko-Fi, for if anyone wants to donate:https://ko-fi.com/Y8Y3PEOH~ brazenedMinstrel (same name on tumblr as well)





	On the Brink of Our Ends

_ Dalaran, the beautiful golden city. The pair of you had done everything traditional, from surprising Jaina in her study to throwing coins into the fountain. She had shown you her favourite places to buy a snack, the best views in the city. And now, she had taken you to a wonderfully quiet place in the gardens, where the pair of you were lying down and relaxing.  _

 

_ It is warm, and both of you are dressed for it. You had chosen to discard the Ranger-General armor for soft leathers and a top that ended just above your navel. Jaina traces figures on your trained stomach, and you admire the way her golden hair reflects the sunlight. After a while, in which your eyes slowly close and you let yourself fall half asleep, her hand dwells to your shoulder. Then it disappears, and you hear the telltale crackle of her magic. Your eyes open a split second too late. Jaina grasps your right ear with a frigid, arcane-cooled hand. With a screech, you shoot upright, grabbing the young mage by her shoulders and flipping the two of you over. Now you are sitting atop her, digging your knees into the soft grass on either side of her waist.  _

 

_ Jaina bursts out in laughter. ‘For a Ranger-General, you sure are skittish when I come near your ears!” she giggles.  _

 

_ That laugh, that smile. You cannot be mad at her. ‘Then do not come near this Ranger-General’s ears,’ you murmur, sweeter than you intended to.  _

 

_ ‘I’m sure you’ll swallow your words when I pay your sisters a visit and tell ‘em how the great Sylvanas Windrunner jumps when I touch her ears,’ Jaina says.  _

 

_ ‘Oh they would never let me live it down.’  _

 

_ A soft hand strokes a line from your eyebrow to your cheekbone. ‘Are you going to get tattoos like the other high elves?’ the young mage asks.  _

 

_ ‘Would you like me less if I did so?’  _

 

_ ‘Nothing in all of Azeroth and beyond could make me like you less.’  _

 

_ Jaina thumbs the small scar you have above your lip. Nothing in all of Azeroth is a grand statement, but you don’t doubt that she is right. In a flurry of blue and gold, you swoop in to lift her half off the ground. A Thalassian sentence leaves your lips before you can stop it, and Jaina asks you what it means. With somewhat of a sigh, you say: ‘There is no way to translate that politely…’  _

 

_ ‘Then translate it impolitely, we’re alone here.’  _

 

_ ‘Fuck, I love you,’ you say, blushing a deep red in the tips of your ears. Before Jaina can react shocked, you kiss her deeply, chasing every breath and every soft touch of her lips against yours. You are bold, she is somewhat timid in the kiss. As you roll onto your side into the soft grass, taking her with you, fingers and tongues tangle in each other alike.  _

 

~~~~~

 

With a rough gasp, Sylvanas wakes up. Her throat is dry, her mind foggy with sleep. The ceiling above her head is dark red. It’s not the clear sky of Dalaran. She is lying underneath several blankets, not in the fresh grass. As she wants to speak, her tongue won’t talk in her voice. Instead, Jaina’s sleepy words sound in the bedroom: ‘Tides, you were hungry.’ 

 

Her head rolls to the side, where two red glowing eyes stare into hers, like coals from a dying fire. ‘ _ That _ is still unsettling. Waking up next to your empty body,’ she grunts. 

 

_ Well, why don't you savour the sight, for a final time?  _ Sylvanas replies. The Banshee Queen’s conscience shifts and moves around in the back of Jaina’s mind.  _ Why were we in Dalaran, of all places?  _

 

‘Dreams are strange, Sylvanas. I have no actual clue,’ Jaina says. ‘You should go back. We’ve got an important day coming up.’ 

 

Sylvanas stays quiet, but her mood shifts from pleased and sleepy to alert and nervous. Now that Jaina can feel her every emotion, the Banshee Queen can no longer hide her anxiety. As the mage sits up in the bed and pats the undead’s grey cheek, she feels the sickly cold skin under her fingers. Today, it could all change. For the better, or for the worse. 

 

_ Will you kiss me again, when I am like this?  _ Sylvanas asks her. 

 

And so, she leans in to press her lips to the elf’s forehead. The moment she touches her, a familiar, telltale roil in her body signals Sylvanas’ efforts to end her possession of Jaina. The mage closes her eyes, breathing hard against the pain when their souls separate and Sylvanas’ banshee form enters her cold vessel again. 

 

‘That was not on the mouth, Jaina,’ she says, opening her red eyes. The blackened, burnt tear tracks on her face fade in and out of Jaina’s focus, as her lover steadies her, waiting for her to come to her senses after the bout of possession. 

 

Tired as she is, Jaina weakly laughs. ‘Oh, was that what you wanted then?’ 

 

Now she is the one to initiate the kiss. It is not quite as deep as in their shared dream, but deeper than in Orgrimmar or Kul Tiras. A strong pair of hands holds her up, guiding her to sit on top of the elf, while she can barely find purchase on the sheets besides Sylvanas’ head. 

 

After a final peck on her wife’s upper lip, Jaina rolls off her. Sylvanas groans and licks her chapped lips when Jaina flops onto her back next to her. ‘Where is the dragon?’ the undead asks. 

 

‘Well, not in the bedroom,’ Jaina replies. She once again sits upright, flicking on the lamp with a spark of arcane. 

 

When she looks next to her, Sylvanas has not moved yet. She is still sprawled underneath the blankets. Her silvery hair is spread on the pillow in a spectacular tangle. And when the elf does sit upright, it sticks to all sides like a bird’s nest of hay. Jaina laughs at the sight and ruffles it. Sylvanas bats her hand away and grumbles that she is going to straighten it out before promptly slipping out of the bed. Still wearing her tunic and trousers from the evening prior, she makes her way to the bathroom. 

 

Jaina’s stomach rumbles. Despite the hearty meal she ate yesterday evening, she’s very hungry. Quickly, she puts on a proper shirt and pants before padding barefoot to the door. When she opens it, the light is intense, blinding her for a few seconds before she can focus. The folding screens have been removed from the windows, so the morning sun, or what the Ruby Sanctum has for a light source, can spil freely into the living room. 

 

‘Good morning, Jaina. Have you slept well?’ 

 

The mage jumps at the voice. Alexstrasza strides out of the kitchen, already fully dressed, with plates in her hands and a small smile on her lips. 

 

‘Yes! I’ve slept quite well,’ Jaina says to her. ‘And Sylvanas too.’ 

 

She follows the Life-Binder to the outside terrace, where there is a breakfast waiting for her. The air in the Sanctum seems cooler than the day before, but the landscape is just as marvelous. 

 

‘I shall leave you to it.’ Alexstrasza puts down the plate on the wooden table. ‘There are things I must prepare, for the ritual. Take your time. Eat, there is plenty.’ 

 

At first glance, the Dragon Queen’s exterior seems as calm and warm as the day prior. Yet her soft smile fades a moment too soon, as Jaina sits down by the table. When it seems as if she wants to walk away, Jaina sees a strange tightness in her shoulders. 

 

Alexstrasza halts, turns to Jaina again and says, in the same grave voice she had spoken in the evening prior: ‘And be sure to say… anything you still need to say to Sylvanas. In case my diminished powers are not enough to revive her.’ 

 

‘I-I will…’ Jaina stammers. Powerful as the Life-Binder is, the fact that there is a chance of failure slipped her mind completely.  

 

‘My apologies for the way I must bring this. But as in ancient times, ‘tis my duty as the Life-Binder to remind you of the risks that come with this ritual. Though this particular instance is… unusual, since the subject of my efforts is still alive, in a sense.’  

 

‘You have never resurrected an undead before?’ 

 

‘No undead was so brave to ever come to me. They fear the flames, with their brittle flesh.’ 

 

Jaina quietly nods, remembering how the Red Dragonflight dealt a great blow to the Scourge, years ago. ‘Isn’t Alleria here? I thought she would try to arrive after we did.’ 

 

‘She tried her best. From what I have heard, she had an issue to resolve between her void elves and the nightborne. Such things can take longer than expected.’ 

 

‘Oh… that is very unfortunate.’ 

 

Jaina sighs. If the eldest Windrunner sister had been present, she would at least have someone to share her worries with. Other than Sylvanas, who was all to aware of her possible fate. And Alexstrasza, naturally, who knew like no other. After cutting herself a few slices of bread, she hears the curtain be swept aside. Sylvanas joins her by the table. She too, reacts slightly crestfallen when Jaina tells her that Alleria couldn’t arrive in time to talk to her. 

 

‘I wish I could have spoken with Alleria, before… before going into this final part,’ she murmurs. Then she sits up straight, tapping with her heel against the marble floor with unnecessary force. ‘Jaina, If I don't make it out of here-’

 

‘Don't say that! Just… don't say that, please,’ Jaina cuts her off before she can finish her sentence. As unavoidable as the ritual is, there are a lot of possible outcomes. Some good, some she absolutely does not want to think about. 

 

Yet Sylvanas continues: ‘If I don't make it out of here, at least tell my sisters that I wish we could have spoken about the things of our pasts, now that they seem to be as bound to peace by the pact as I am. I don't know what the outcome of our conversation would have been, but it is an important one. One I have had in mind for too long.’ 

 

‘T-that was what you wanted to speak about with Alleria, huh? How you three would get around to organizing that conversation.’ 

 

The elf nods at Jaina’s words. Her face is blank, as if set in stone. Only her drooping ears betray her emotions. 

 

‘I will say it. Don’t worry, I will say it to them when you-’ She cannot say the words. Jaina’s throat clenches and she grasps her cutlery so tightly that her knuckles turn white. 

 

‘When I die,’ Sylvanas dryly adds. ‘Thank you. I very much doubt that we could get one of my remaining Val’kyr to race here quickly enough to resurrect me. If there is anything left of me to revive.’ 

 

She places her left fist onto the table. ‘And if Alleria returns here… after me, give her this back.’ 

 

A hint of tears sounds in her voice, despite being unable to cry. Jaina looks on in suspense as she unfurls her fingers. In her palm lies the necklace, with the bright blue gem. The jewel that Alleria gave to her. 

 

‘Take it.’ 

 

Sylvanas practically shoves the necklace into Jaina’s hands. Shakily, the mage slips it into her pocket. Sylvanas leans back in her chair, eyes trained on the distant mountains, solidifying her expression into a slab of concrete once again. 

 

_ Are you giving up now?  _ Jaina thinks.  _ Making me take your necklace, fully prepared for your death?  _

 

She spends the rest of her breakfast in morose silence. Her throat runs dry, despite the water she drinks.  _ You should settle in your fate,  _ she tells herself.  _ Just like Sylvanas. Whatever that fate might be.  _ After a sideways glance at Sylvanas, she wonders if the elf is still so afraid of what awaits her during the ritual. It is very difficult to read her from the outside, even after spending time with her very soul. Some magic spells could hurt the caster when used. Jaina knew how to prepare for such pain. But was it the same as what Sylvanas was doing for herself, to prepare for a ritual, the nature of which she did not know? Alexstrasza seemed unwilling to reveal anything before they had started the ancient rite. And perhaps that was for the better, since the exact knowledge might make her all the more fearful. 

 

When the Life-Binder emerges again, walking up to the pair, over the grassy field to the right of the house, she is wearing different clothes than an hour before. These immediately made her look much more powerful, and ancient, like a deity from far before their time. A body covering, undecorated maroon robe, with long sleeves and a high collar. They are strangely dirtied. Not tattered, but seemingly flecked with darker patches, as if the shadows don’t stick to the fabric completely. Her horns are devoid of rings, her feet clad in nothing but a cloth wrap. 

 

She takes Jaina and Sylvanas with her to the right side of there house. Behind the long building is another path. Not made out of loose stones, like the one leading to the waygate, but a simple path of hardened earth. It leads to a cave entrance in the mountains surrounding the plane where the house is built. While walking, Jaina looks sideways to Sylvanas. Her face is set in harsh determination, yet it softens marginally when she catches Jaina’s glance. She nods, shortly but meant assuringly. 

 

~~~~~

 

The Life-Binder holds still before the cave entrance. Its walls, roof and the two pillars holding up a bow of dark wood above the entrance are all covered with runes. When the Dragon Queen lifts her hand, they glow green, as do her eyes. ‘Beyond this ward, there is no turning back until I have completed the ritual. Whether I am successful or not, I cannot return to the Sanctum until the rite is over, since the magic of the ancients will lock the cave behind us. Now, Windrunner, is the final moment where you can decide to-’ 

 

‘No, I will not flee from you again,’ Sylvanas says. Despite the undercurrent of dread in her mind, she is determined to let fate run its course. Jaina tenses next to her, but shakily nods, her braid swinging to and fro. 

 

‘Then proceed.’ 

 

Alexstrasza turns to the dark tunnel. When she swipes a hand through the air, draconic figures glow on the walls, providing them with a marginal source of light. The pair follows her into the humid cave. The air is heavy, so saturated with ancient magic that even Sylvanas can feel it prickle on her skin. Yet strangely, it does not feel as oppressing as the magic she felt near the Val’kyr, or near her most powerful necromancers. This feels alive, unnerving in its power, but comforting in its nature. A heavy rush sounds in Sylvanas’ ears, like a gust of winter storm. The entrance of the tunnel is dark when she turns around to look behind her. As the Life-Binder had said, the cave has closed its ancient wards, sealing them within. 

 

When the tunnel ends, they stand in a large cavern, big enough to fit a dragon. Or several. A dark pool of water is split in two by the path, runes lighting up along it with every step they take. ‘Do not fall in,’ the Life-Binder warns. ‘I am uncertain whether it is infinitely deep or not.’ 

 

She takes the human and the elf to a shadowy area at the back of the cavern. When she lifts her arms and mumbles a word in the Draconic language, an engraving in the dark stone wall flares green. It is a dragon, wings outspread, with four horns and a ridge down its spine. With an airless gasp, Sylvanas realizes that it’s  _ her _ . Alexstrasza, drawn in the moment she arose as Red Aspect, forever depicted in her colour, the green magic of life. 

 

In between the Life-Binder and the pair is an altar. Hewn from the same dark stone of the cavern, only slightly smoothed and engraved with countless grooves. Endless lines, runes and figures adorn its surface.  

 

Her attention is drawn away from it, to Jaina and Alexstrasza, who are peering at a sizable collection of potions and brews. Stacked on top of a smaller column of stone, clearly put there by the Dragon Queen earlier that day. She beckons Sylvanas, the rustle of her robe the only sound in the cavern. 

 

Now the Banshee Queen’s wariness returns threefold. She clenches her hands into fists as she approaches them, feeling like an intruder in this ancient domain. Truthfully, she has not been in many places that originated before her people had started to inhabit Quel’thalas. 

 

‘Where are we?’ she asks. 

 

‘These grounds were preserved, like the Sanctum, from ancient times. They used to lie in the open, but my kin moved them when the War of the Ancients had passed, lest they be damaged,’ the Life-Binder says. ‘’Tis not quite a temple, the world was too young for such structures. Still, I practiced the arts of resurrection here, eons ago.’  

 

She hands the undead a murky liquid in an earthenware bowl. ‘Drink this. I know you are able to.’ 

 

It tastes like liquid ash, viscous and close to choking her. She swallows with great difficulty, aided by Jaina’s warm hand on her shoulder and the soft encouragements that she murmurs. Immediately, the potion takes effect. Her skin feels alight with magic, sparking under the surface. Everything becomes more sensitive, the odd warmth in the cavern more apparent, the light from the runes brighter. 

 

‘Are you feeling alright?’ Jaina inquires. 

 

Sylvanas realizes that she is swaying on her feet. Steadying herself, she nods. ‘I am fine, yes.’ 

 

Alexstrasza too drinks various potions. One makes her eyes glow green, before dimming to their usual bronze color. Another causes lines of red magic to crisscross her skin. The elf guesses that it increases her power greatly. Then the Dragon Queen reaches for her left shoulder, and tugs on a hidden lace in the robe. It falls away from her body. 

 

Her arms are wrapped in a similar fashion to her shins and feet. Nearly bandaged, beige fabric wound around her palms and over the pads of the thumbs. It covers her underarms, save for a bar of skin by the elbow. Her upper arms are bared, several scars set deep within the skin. A vest of rough, red fabric is wrapped around her torso, sealed above her bared navel with an equally roughened leather belt. Combined with the ringless horns and the plain trousers that leave her shins bare, it serves to make her look ancient, powerful beyond measure. Deceptively simple, yet so effective. 

 

‘You may undress now, Sylvanas. I will need to apply magic to your bare skin for it to revive properly,’ she says. Even her voice is different. Much more raw and draconic. 

 

Nervously, all too aware of the pairs of eyes on her, Sylvanas sheds most of her clothing. As she turns to the Life-Binder, she is very alert. And near painfully aware of the blackened, burnt scars she carries with her. She never showed many of these to Jaina, being careful to always wear nightclothes in bed. As she reaches to rid herself of her shoes, her stomach roils at the sight of the scar on the skin of her torso. Huge, crossing all the way from the middle of her ribcage to just above her hip bone. Ragged, because the frost tore her skin even beyond the damage of the blade. Burnt, so cold was the magic that ripped her body apart. 

 

She has others, too. Thin lashes on her back, punctures in the flesh of her legs. All reminders from the time she served the Lich King. Despite not being one with her body, she had been able to feel the tortures inflicted upon it. 

 

And so, she stands before the Dragon Queen, bared and scarred for the Life-Binder to see. 

 

She feels close to sinking onto the ground, her knees growing weak. But Alexstrasza steadies her, supports her with one strong arm and guides her to sit on the altar. When she turns away to put her robe by the potion bottles, Sylvanas grumbles: ‘ _ Belore,  _ am I sure glad I've decided to wear shorts for our travels. And not something more frivolous.’ 

 

In those and a wrap around her chest, she waits for the former aspect to return. Jaina comes to stand next to her, a concerned frown on her face. She is avidly trying to to look at the hideous, blackened scars, from Frostmourne, from the torture in Icecrown Citadel and some whitish leftovers from her time as Ranger-General. But she is failing spectacularly, so much so that Sylvanas eventually says: ‘Jaina, just look at them, if you cannot keep your eyes to yourself.’ 

 

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ the mage timidly mumbles. ‘I was just hoping that… after all this torturous, unnecessary pain you endured… perhaps today will be the turning point.’ 

 

Sylvanas sighs. Yes, she hopes that too. But she does not voice it, instead grabbing Jaina’s fingers as the mage’s smaller hand searches for hers on the dark stone. Alexstrasza returns, a shallow bowl in hand. In it, a kind of salve. She dips a finger into it, and Sylvanas represses a shiver when her warm fingertip draws the first swirl on her skin. As the Life-Binder continues, she squeezes Jaina’s hand to avoid shuddering when more patterns are added, crossing skin and scar alike. 

 

When the dragon’s work is done, and she motions for Sylvanas to stand, the elf feels even more naked. The salve does not sink into her skin, it just sticks to it in whatever pattern the former aspect has drawn. Jaina informs her that it will help channeling the magic, to which Sylvanas nods quietly. 

 

Jaina shucks out of her blue and white coat, throwing it onto the pile with Sylvanas’ clothing. She breathes deeply, in and out, to relax herself. It is something that Sylvanas has seen her do before, but all sounds she makes seem much louder in the cavernous chamber. 

 

The fabric of Sylvanas’ smallclothes is the only thing in between her skin and the rough stone surface of the altar, when she lies down on her back. In this position, she can only just see Alexstrasza preparing from the very corners of her eyes. Then the Life-Binder quietly says something to Jaina, who sucks in a quick breath, then steps away from the altar. Like an ancient Goddess looming over her sacrifice, Alexstrasza stares down at Sylvanas with her molten bronze eyes. In a powerful tone, so deep yet quiet, she says: 

 

‘Sylvanas, you must release your banshee form now.’ 

 

The undead complies, her smoky spirit screeching as she unshackles it from her body. Instantly, Alexstrasza lifts her arms, green swirls of magic unfurling and latching onto the patterns she drew on the elf’s skin. They too glow green, as the magic tightens and prevents the banshee from rising above the altar. 

 

Sylvanas groans in pain as her spirit is tied down, ancient powers seeping into her skin, shackling the wraith to her body, binding them together. Her banshee shrieks with her, as the life-giving magic pulls it back down, near strangling it in whorls of green. Her vision fades in and out, the ceiling of the cavern alternatingly blurry and sharp, switching every second as she fights to escape her bonds. The old, raging bloodlust boils in her veins as the vague red silhouette of the Life-Binder brings down her arms so they hover just above her twitching shape. She hears one rasped phrase in the Draconic language. 

 

_ ‘Abela skorukh, zila gul andilar.’  _

 

A stab of burning pain seems to nail her to the altar. Every muscle in her body tenses, she hears Jaina scream something indiscernible. Then a flash of green light takes over her vision and she crashes with her head down onto the stone. 

 

~~~~~

 

Black smoke trails upwards from Sylvanas’ body, as green light melds her banshee spirit and the corpse she inhabits into one being. A harrowing scream rips from her throat as the magic spreads over her body, culminating in a spot above her heart. She goes stiff, all muscles tensing, then limp, slumping onto the altar. 

 

Alexstrasza steps back form the plateau, breathing heavily. ‘Once chaos, shall suffer no more,’ she repeats in Common.  

 

Jaina immediately takes her place, rushing to feel Sylvanas’ throat, searching for a pulse under her skin where there still is none. A high, pained whimper leaves the elf’s throat. Her voice is equally high and tight with pain when she whispers: ‘J-jaina…?’ 

 

‘I’m here, Sylvanas. I’m right here.’ Jaina hastily lays a hand on Sylvanas’ chest, feeling the magic rush underneath her skin. She is absolutely full of ancient power now, all swirling in her flesh. 

 

_ This is all for her own good,  _ Jaina reminds herself, repressing the thought to stop the rite.  _ It’s for a noble cause, for her very own life. Besides, the ritual cannot be stopped now.  _

 

‘Try again, to release your spirit, Sylvanas,’ Alexstrasza says. Having caught her breath and wiped the gleam of sweat off her forehead, she walks up to the altar with the elf. Sylvanas nods, then closes her red eyes and flexes the muscles in her chest and neck. No smoke starts forming, no banshee flies out of her body. Instead, her head drops back to the altar, somewhat dazed. 

 

‘I cannot…’ Her slightly panicky eyes meet the Life-Binder’s small smile. ‘There is no seam between it and the rest of me.’ 

 

‘Then I have at least partially succeeded in this ritual,’ the dragon says. ‘Now, Jaina, listen closely.’ 

 

Jaina inclines her head, but doesn’t remove her hand from Sylvanas’ skin. 

 

‘What do you feel, when holding your wrist?’ Alexstrasza asks calmly. 

 

‘My heartbeat?’ 

 

‘More accurately, your blood. Streaming to your veins. It is what I shall be working on next.’ The Dragon Queen reveals a small dagger in her right hand. Its grip is simple leather, its blade coppery in colour. ‘But if I am correct, you do not have blood like we do, Sylvanas?’ 

 

‘No, indeed,’ the elf says. ‘It’s black, coagulated by the cold. From the Citadel.’ 

 

Alexstrasza hums thoughtfully. ‘Your hand, please.’

 

When Sylvanas lifts her left hand, she cuts a small incision into the pad of the thumb. The undead briefly tenses, but looks on, nearly curious, as the black ichor sluggishly wells up in the wound. 

 

‘Do you see, how it does not flow as quickly as a living being’s blood?’ the Life-Binder points out. 

 

While Jaina doesn’t know entirely what she means by it, she nods. And when Alexstrasza takes her place behind the altar again, she steps back, giving Sylvanas one last comforting pat on her skin. 

 

This time, the Dragon Queen infuses the grooves on the altar with her green, life-giving magic. Endless patterns curl across the surface, under Sylvanas’ body and down on the sides of the stone. Sparks travel up and down her arms as she traces a broad path just above Sylvanas’ skin, from her head to her toes and back up again. The Life-Binder’s arms rise, the ancient power in the altar rises with it, like rain falling upwards. Jaina watches in awe as it follows the paths of Sylvanas’ blood vessels underneath her skin. This is ancient magic unlike she has ever witnessed before. She feels somewhat honored to be in its presence. Alexstrasza clenches her hands to fists and the green glows more darkly. 

 

‘This feels… strange,’ Sylvanas says raspily. ‘Not painful, merely strange.’ 

 

~~~~~

 

This magic feels somewhat warmer in her veins. It’s pressing outwards, against her skin. The Life-Binder traces another broad line down over her body and the arcane flares at the movement. 

 

At once, the pressure increases. Her blood starts streaming faster, rushing through her dead veins at the speed of a living person’s, racing to all extremities. Several sharp pangs of pain in her chest cause her to shriek unexpectedly. Something flows into her airways. Not air, no. It is too warm to be air. 

 

A path of green energy along her chest suddenly glows bright red as she hears another growled word in Draconic. It takes a moment for the pain to kick in, but when it does, Sylvanas’ body twists onto her side, convulsing in pain. She lifts herself on one arm, leaning on her elbow, then opening her mouth to cry out. Air rushes in, not out of her body. She breathes. A rapid flow of humid air into her lungs. Instantly, her chest feels like it’s tearing itself apart, ribcage breaking open to free her unaccustomed airways. She falls down on her side again, gasping, chasing more air and trying to cough the viscous fluid out of her airways. 

 

Jaina shrieks something. Alexstrasza warns her to stay back. Sylvanas desperately tries to suck in more air, but her lungs seem to fill with warm liquid instead. The magic pulls at her skin, pushing inwards and outwards at the same time. Another tortured scream of agony bubbles from her throat as she heaves and finally inhales enough air to cough harshly. It feels as if her windpipe is ripped open, unused to the pressure. 

 

A mouthful of black ichor splatters onto the altar. And several more, as Sylvanas fights to breathe in between the fit of coughing. 

 

She hears another panicked yell from Jaina, and wishes she could hear what her wife was saying. But the blood, now rushing in her ears, obscures all sounds. 

  
  


~~~~~

 

‘What is happening?’ Jaina harshly asks. She is forced to stand back and watch as Alexstrasza mutters Draconic spells under her breath and her elvish lover spits blood. 

 

Finally, after too long, the Life-Binder turns to her. Flecks of black ichor adorn her clothing, she is breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her body. ‘My diminished powers are causing me trouble. It is not so easy to remedy this shortage with strengthening potions.’

 

Jaina rushes for Sylvanas, now the magic has seeped out of the grooves in the altar. 

 

‘Her blood streams at normal speed again, which was my goal for this stage of the ritual. The increase in blood pressure caused the tender tissues of her lungs to rip slightly. I had to heal it swiftly, to avoid fatal damage. Then I thought to start her breathing again. It all worked… just not as smoothly as I had intended.’ 

 

While Jaina hears it, she pays no mind to the words, no matter what they mean. She lifts Sylvanas’ head, carefully turning her on her back. The elf’s eyes are bleary, and still glowing red. Black ichor flows form her nose and mouth, and she hacks up more, spitting it onto Jaina’s shirt. 

 

‘S-sorry,’ she rasps. 

 

‘It is alright, it’s no matter.’ Jaina removes Sylvanas’ hair from her face, where it had stuck to the blood coming out of her nose. She puts a hand on the elf’s chest and feels how it rises and falls. Slowly, only a tiny bit. Every breath is paired with an awful rattling sound in Sylvanas’ lungs and a wheeze in her throat. But it is breath. 

 

‘F-feels like I’m choking, constantly,’ Sylvanas whispers as she bares her fangs in pain. ‘It’s so difficult to keep brea-  _ nghh! _ ’ 

 

She cringes, grabbing Jaina’s arm as she coughs again. A spray of red coats the stones of the altar. 

 

Red, her blood is red. 

 

Mostly, bits of black ichor still dribble out of her mouth. But Alexstrasza’s live-giving powers changed something deep inside Jaina’s elven lover. 

 

Briefly, Jaina feels euphoric. So close to their goals as they are. That feeling evaporates just as quickly when Sylvanas groans. Low, rattling, like an animal shot by a hunter. Her breathing does not stabilize. It remains the stuttering, wheezing sound. 

 

‘How do you feel?’ she impulsively asks. 

 

Rather than berate her for the stupid question, Sylvanas gives her a terrifying bloody smile. ‘Fantastic,’ she says with a dribble of red down her chin. ‘C-can we resume this ritual?’ 

 

‘Jaina,’ Alexstrasza softly says. Her touch on Jaina’s shoulder is positively alight with magic. ‘I must continue, the empowering effects of these potions will not last forever. You have blood on your face. I brought a washcloth and a bowl with warm water, so you may clean it off.’ 

 

Ushering Jaina away from the altar, she takes her place again and begins to spin ribbons of energy in between her fingers. 

 

‘I don’t care,’ Jaina sharply exclaims. Blood on her face is not important. Sylvanas’ fate, how her breathing wheezes in her throat and how limp her body is when the Life-Binder turns her on her back. Those things are important. 

 

~~~~~

 

Not entirely conscious, yet not entirely out of her mind either. It is a terrible state that Sylvanas is all too familiar with. She is only able to see vague red and green shapes in a black background. Jaina’s warm hands are replaced by the pricking, magic-infused touch of Alexstrasza, as she is laid down on her back again. A ringing in her ears blocks out all other sounds. Currents of magic flow through her upper body. The all seem to concentrate in a point underneath her sternum. 

 

Sylvanas’ eyes go wide as she realizes, and struggles in vain. Instantly, a heavy hand is placed onto her chest, above her heart. It keeps her in place as she magic sparks up and down the Life-Binder’s arm. 

 

A pulse, two toned. Her entire body seems to beat in time with the surge of magic. A heavy current goes down her body, to all extremities. Another, and another. The hand is lifted from her chest, and the pulses stop. Her vision goes black. 

 

‘It’s not enough!’ Jaina shrieks. 

 

Everything comes back into focus. Her wife’s eyes, bright blue. Tears on her cheeks. 

 

The same hand on her chest, pressing into her skin. The same pulsing beat of magic in her body. A muted, gargled sound of pain that she barely recognizes as her own. Then darkness takes her once more. 

 

~~~~~

 

Sylvanas’ eyes close, and open, and close again. 

 

If Jaina is correct in reading Alexstrasza’s voice, the Life-Binder curses in her own language. Her artificial heartbeat of life-giving energies is not enough to make Sylvanas’ undead body take over. 

 

‘It’s not enough!’ she yells shrilly. Hot tears stream from the corners of her eyes. 

 

Alexstrasza turns her head to face the mage. ‘Step away, Jaina. You do not want to make contact with this spell.’ 

 

Hastily, Jaina stumbles back to where the mostly empty potion bottles lie. Frightened and upset. Not allowed to stand by her lover while she is in pain. She clenches her teeth and watches as the Life-Binder’s huge form heaves with a deep breath. She lifts her horned head to the gaze at the ceiling of the room, then growls the incantation. Flames burst from her eyes and mouth, a blaze of magic pulses outwards. Jaina feels it singe the hairs on her arms. 

 

Jaina’s heartbeat speeds up, and falters for a split second. Pain spikes in her chest and a little green line zips down her hand, tracing the path of an old scar. 

 

Panicked, she looks at the altar. 

 

Sylvanas screams, so loudly that her voice breaks and cracks. 

 

Green light flares in the tears under her eyes. It blazes in the massive scar across her stomach and the many others on her body. She arches her back off the altar, her shrill shouts echoing through the cavern. For a moment, she hovers in the air above the stone slab, held aloft by the Life-Binder’s magic. The rhythmic pulses of energy boom throughout the cave. Jaina feels them in her own body, they rattle the bottles she stands next to. Then Alexstrasza suddenly drops her arms to her sides. With a gasp, she can barely catch herself by leaning onto the altar. The magic dissipates from the air. Jaina knows it’s safe to approach her now. 

 

The Dragon Queen’s shoulders are shaking from her rapid breaths. She rights herself up, putting a hand to her forehead. Looking to aid her, Jaina sends forth a small wisp of frost to provide some coolness. Alexstrasza nods thankfully, but clears her throat and says in a tired tone: ‘You should look at your wife, Jaina.’ 

 

The mage does so. Sylvanas is facing the open cavern, her back turned to Jaina. It looks as if her bones are more pronounced, ribcage clearly visible, rising and falling irregularly. When Jaina walks around the altar, sits down on it and lifts the elf’s upper body to rest on her thighs, her lover’s red eyes blink open. She takes quick look at Alexstrasza, who is drinking from another potion and patting her forehead with a cloth. Then her gaze goes back to Jaina, and a very slight smile lights up her face. It still looks slightly terrifying, with the crusts of dried blood on her chin and her wheezing breath. But Jaina smiles back through her tears. Slowly, her heart stops racing and her fright dims ever so slightly. 

 

‘This is nearly worse than being raised form the dead,’ Sylvanas whispers. ‘The only thing making it worthwhile…’ she takes Jaina’s hand in hers. The skin is still cold and dead, which makes Jaina shiver. Then Sylvanas places it on her chest. ‘- is this.’ 

 

Her heart is beating. Underneath her hand, the skin quivers with a pulse. Two, one of her heart and another one of her lungs, where breath slowly seeps in and out. 

 

Jaina starts laughing, and crying, too. A crazy laugh and hiccups with tears. The laugh says that she cannot believe it and the tears are because of her lover’s suffering. Finally, Sylvanas can reap the results of their endeavours. A rush of warmth rises in her chest and she kisses the elf on the forehead. And she laughs even harder when she feels Sylvanas’ heartbeat pick up speed. 

 

A warm light illuminates the otherwise sparsely lit cavern. Alexstrasza approaches the altar, a column of flame in her left hand. She looks exhausted, but her face shows happiness, too. ‘Look at her, Jaina. Look at her clearly.’ 

 

Rubbing the remnants of tears from her eyes, Jaina looks down at Sylvanas. Sprawled over the altar as her lover lies, she looks more relaxed, not in quite as much pain anymore. A blush is on her cheeks, and in the tips of her ears as well. Her skinny shoulders shudder with  _ breath.  _ And her skin… it’s completely flushed with colour. 

 

Now Jaina understands what the Life-Binder meant. She strokes Sylvanas’ shoulder, amazed and incredibly relieved. Yes, her skin truly has colour now. It is no longer the sickly, dead grey that she had grown accustomed to. Nor is it completely back to the pale shade of peach that she knows from Sylvanas’ sisters. In wonder, the elf marvels at her skin too. It balances in between grey and Jaina’s skin colour. Not dead, not so far from alive. Her tears are finally removed from her skin, leaving her cheeks pale but unmarred. 

 

‘ _ Anar’alah.  _ Thank you, Life-Binder.’ Sylvanas looks up from her place in Jaina’s lap to find Alexstrasza’s fiery gaze. 

 

The dragon smiles. ‘There is no need, Sylvanas. Though I fear I can only do so much for you, in this regard.’ She shrugs a bit forlornly. ‘This all used to be much easier for me.’ 

 

‘Then I must thank you again for trying, however hazardous it may be.’ 

 

‘You may thank me after the next stage of this ancient rite,’ the Life-Binder says, righting herself up to her full length and closing her hand, extinguishing the flame. 

 

Jaina steps back again, but not before carefully laying Sylvanas down and wiping some of the blood off her chin. Sylvanas smacks her lips, a pinkish tongue chasing the flakes of red. She frowns and hums in thought. ‘I cannot taste them still.’ 

 

‘Do not fret, I shall try the nerves next.’ 

 

_ Try _ . Alexstrasza said try, instead of will. Immediately alarmed, Jaina thinks:  _ it could just be accidental, it could just be a way of wording.  _ Then the Dragon Queen starts spinning a spell construct again, and the mage is quickly in awe, shoving her worries aside. 

 

A net of interlocking streams of magic. The Life-Binder lifts her arms up high, managing a swirling, pulsing cloud of red and green energies. Like a conductor, she commands it to move to her wills. She is chanting in her ancient language. Her song reverberates in the cavern, seemingly forming a rhythm with its own echoes. Alexstrasza’s cloth-wrapped feet stamp their answer, as the red energy filters out of the cloud and is absorbed into the former aspect’s body. Jaina realizes that she is empowering herself. Curls, bracelets of magic form on the Life-Binder’s arms, around her chest and horns. Swirls of green trail behind her arms and head in her dance. She lifts her head to the dark ceiling of the cavern and yells a primal scream. It could be a word, it could just be a vocalisation of her power. 

 

At once, the green light is sucked into Sylvanas’ body. The entire cavern turns dark, safe for the still glowing engraving of the Red Aspect on the wall. Alexstrasza seems to be holding her breath. Her palms are still open, turned to the ceiling and the red magic still swirls around her body. The quiet is pressing down onto Jaina, as she anxiously awaits the Life-Binder’s next move. 

 

Sylvanas opens her eyes, glowing red. She takes a single, fluid breath. 

 

Then opens her mouth in a horrifying scream of pure agony as her nerves flare to life. 

 

Green energy bursts out of her eyes and mouth. She is still screaming when Jaina runs for the alter, reaches her, takes her head in her hands and kneels down by the altar to soothe her pain. The elf curls into a ball, wrenching Jaina’s hands away, then unfurls again, body convulsing and writhing in torment. White froth bubbles up from her mouth. She moves so violently that Jaina can barely find purchase anywhere on her body. 

 

‘Encourage her, Jaina,’ Alexstrasza says, spinning curling threads of flame from her arms, empowering herself further for the final moments. 

 

‘What- How do I- What do you mean “encourage her”? Why?’ Jaina seeks out the eyes of the former Aspect as Sylvanas shrieks in torture. 

 

The Queen turns to her, the fire on her arms flickers from red to green, flowing into the grooves on the altar. ‘If you do not speak to her, and do not give her an anchor to this world, she may very well give up. I can feel her fading.’ 

 

Alarmed, Jaina grabs Sylvanas by the shoulders and shakes her. 

 

‘Sylvanas!’ 

 

The elf’s body twists in her grasp, giving no signs of recognition. 

 

‘ _ Sylvanas! _ ’ Jaina shrieks again. Fear curdles sickly in her chest as she puts a hand over her lover’s eyes, trying to somehow soothe her, relieve the pain. On her knees by the altar, she presses her lips to the clammy skin of the elf’s temple. ‘Sylvanas, listen to me! You  _ must _ hang on!’ 

 

Sylvanas’ body stills slightly. Just enough for Jaina to gently wipe the froth form her mouth. New bubbles up near instantaneously, reddish with blood. Alexstrasza’s voice sounds very strained when she speaks up:

 

‘As I said before: I do not possess the full extent of power I was granted as an Aspect anymore. What I can do for her… it would not restore her fully to life.’ 

 

A strangled gasp leaves Sylvanas’ mouth, eyes glowing with light. Her head rolls limply to the side, body cramping and convulsing irregularly. Jaina holds on to her hand, clenched so tightly around hers that the elf’s nails nearly cut into her flesh. 

 

‘Either she is satisfied with the state I can restore her to, or I can end her here and now.’ The Life-Binder turns to the undead on the stone plateau beneath her. ‘But choose swiftly, Windrunner. I cannot hold onto these powers forever. I cannot grant you a high elf’s long life. Perhaps a human’s lifespan, but not much more.’ 

 

In a moment of clarity, Sylvanas finds her voice. She spits a mouthful of blood and froth on the stone next to the altar, then wheezes: ‘Give me  _ life,  _ Alexstrasza. I d-do not ask for much more… just life.’ 

 

Jaina hastily nods and shoots a pleading look at the Life-Binder’s eyes. She does not know what to add, other than a plea that she cuts off when Sylvanas groans in pain and hangs on to Jaina. The mage lifts her lover’s upper body from the altar. ‘Sylvanas! Please, oh Tides, I beg you… please hold on!’ 

 

Terrifyingly, the elf’s breathing slows to a near stop. Her voice fades into high, yet near unhearable cries. Then she goes completely cold and limp. She is encased in green energy, which Alexstrasza only barely seems able to control as she holds one outstretched arm over the elf’s body.  

 

‘With a single breath, I can free you from this accursed existence, Sylvanas,’ she says. ‘The choice is yours.’ 

 

‘L-live,’ Sylvanas stutters between pained grunts. ‘Jaina… I c-can’t let J-jaina-’ her sentence is cut off by another scream. 

 

The Life-Binder inclines her head. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, one swirling with green magic, one with red. Panting heavily, she bares her sharp teeth in a throaty hiss. Her eyes swirl with fiery magic like lava in the heart of a volcano. 

 

Sylvanas’ body seems barely able to withstand the ancient magic, trembling and cramping in her arms. Jaina’s eyes fill with tears. In the blink of an eye, it could all be over. All of their efforts, gone in but a second. 

 

Alexstrasza gives Jaina little time to think about the times she and her wife shared, before and after their marriage. She opens her arms with a flare of green magic and a Draconic roar. 

 

_ ‘Rikk ante il gular, am dakana.’  _

 

Sylvanas’ anguished scream is cut off. The light bursting from her eyes and mouth is extinguished. For a moment, her entire body is tensed in Jaina’s arms. Two silver eyes look into hers. Her hand relaxes. 

 

Then it drops. 

 

Sylvanas falls limply onto the hard stone of the altar. 

**Author's Note:**

> *shrinks away into a corner*


End file.
